Part 4
Bright sunshine trickling through the ragged cloth serving as curtains finally percolated Rhade's deep but dream-filled sleep, and with a groan he rolled away, throwing an arm over his eyes to keep out the light. His head felt thick and muzzy, as if he'd been on a bender the previous night, and it took a lot more thinking than he was happy with to remember that he'd in fact come straight to bed without even visiting the bar. And he could swear he'd done nothing that might account for the niggling little aches and pains that started up in his joints when he moved.
From the strength of the sun he guessed it was already late morning, and he was vaguely surprised no one had come looking for him. But then again, if the slowly returning memories were anything to go by, they probably reckoned it would be safer to let sleeping Nietzscheans lie. He had a vision of Dylan and Doyle pressing him for reasons for his seeming obsession with this stranger, his reaction to which had been less than civil. But it came as somewhat of a shock to realise that this was at least the second morning in a row he'd woken up feeling like crap without having done anything to deserve it.
He wondered hazily if he should be worried about this, but it wasn't in his nature to be concerned about his physical condition – whatever was causing it, his innate recuperative powers would deal with it, and his strength of purpose would carry him through until they did.
But given how much effort it took him to just get out of bed, he found himself praying that it would be quick.
Once he was up and moving, however, he started to feel a bit better, and breakfast definitely helped that process further. That meant he was able to respond to Dylan's request that he join them up on Andromeda for a briefing with something resembling enthusiasm.
His relatively cheerful greeting on arrival seemed to set the others at ease, the rather apprehensive expressions they were trying to hide clearing to be replaced by more welcoming grins. He wondered in passing what he might have done to make them nervous, but as in the main that was part and parcel of being who and what he was, he let it go and gave his concentration over to Hunt's latest grand scheme.
The meeting was short, for which Rhade was grateful – for some reason the warship's environmental controls seemed to be malfunctioning, causing the temperature in the meeting room to grow increasingly chilly as time went by. None of the others appeared to have noticed, though, if their blank-faced reaction to his "Is it getting cold in here?" was anything to go by, which was strange.
But it wouldn't do to let them see him show any weakness, not when there was bound to be a logical explanation, so he instinctively provoked a haranguing match with Harper, asserting he'd seen him shiver which must therefore mean he was demonstrating his usual yellow streak at the thought of the proposed job. By the time Dylan had stepped in to get the session back on track, he felt sure he'd distracted everyone well enough to avoid comment.
But he was glad to get out of there and be heading back to Seefra's warmth for a few hours while he and Doyle helped Harper pull together the gear he needed.
Once the door slid closed behind them, Dylan flashed a thoughtful look at Trance as he asked for Andromeda's confirmation that the room's temperature had remained at a constant and very comfortable level the entire time. Once she'd obliged, he raised an eyebrow. "That was odd."
Trance's expression was equally pensive. "I would have to agree. I don't believe I've ever heard Rhade complain of the cold before."
"No, that would be a first for me too. Andromeda, did you notice anything different about Rhade's bio-readings?"
"His body temperature was slightly elevated compared to the last time he was on board," the AI responded, "but still well within normal parameters for a Nietzschean. My standard monitoring level for members of the crew only checks external indicators, though. Do you wish me to run a deeper scan?"
Dylan considered that briefly but, knowing how Rhade would react to such an invasion of privacy should he find out, declined her offer for now. With luck it wouldn't be necessary, and he had enough flak to dodge from external sources to want to create more needless friction within his own team.
"You're worried about him," Trance said quietly.
He sighed, but shook his head. "Not really. Not yet, anyway. He can be a pig-headed so and so, but if there is anything to worry about he's not stupid enough to keep it to himself indefinitely. He'll tell us when he's ready."
But he was all too aware that, if it came to that point, it might already be too late.
-o-
Even later, Rhade couldn't say for sure how it happened. One second he was hefting a crate of Harper's space junk off the back of their land transport, the next he was flat on his back on the dusty road, pinned there by its mass and struggling to understand why he couldn't shift it. While it was more than heavy enough to tax most normal humans' strength, he'd managed to move it alone earlier, if not exactly with ease then at least without straining anything. So it had come as a complete surprise when this time his muscles had refused to support the weight.
He knew he should have just dropped it, but shock kept his fingers hooked round its base as his legs crumpled beneath him, taking him and his burden groundwards.
Doyle's face appeared above him, blocking out the unexpected view of Seefra's suns. "Rhade, what happened? Are you OK?" she asked, expression quizzical.
"Get this thing off me," he growled, the hot flush of embarrassment rising through him jolting him out of his stunned state. He was grimly aware that passers-by were pausing to stare at the unusual spectacle of the big Nietzschean in anything other than a position of superiority, a few chuckles starting up which only served to add to his discomfiture.
Stooping to grasp the offending item, the android lifted it effortlessly clear of him and dumped it back on the vehicle, before turning to offer him a hand up. But he'd already scrambled unsteadily to his feet, scowling around him like a cornered wolf desperate to get out of the public eye so he could lick his wounds in private.
"Hey, what's the big idea, Mr. Clumsy?" demanded Harper, irately. "Some of that stuff is fragile. I don't know what exactly, or if I'm actually going to need any of it, but if I do and you've broken it, I'll be adding it to your bar bill! And you better not think this is going to get you out of helping." But all he got in reply was a wordless snarl and a big hand shoving him aside – though strangely it didn't seem to pack the power he was expecting, so that he merely took a step back instead of being sent staggering out of the way.
But Rhade gave him no chance to comment further, disappearing in the direction of his quarters with his head down, avoiding all eye contact. Doyle watched him go thoughtfully, spotting out of the corner of her eye a couple of others in the now dispersing gaggle of onlookers doing the same. Then, ignoring Harper's indignant, "Sheesh! What's with that guy these days?" she fished out her communicator and thumbed it on. "Dylan? I think we have a problem."
-o-
Back in the sanctuary of his room, Rhade sank wearily down on the bed and lowered his suddenly aching head into his hands. The enclosed space felt hot and stifling, not something he'd ever noticed about the place before and because of that he didn't really know how to make things better.
And the same could probably be said for himself.
Apart from a couple of serious injuries incurred while leading the Tarazed Home Guard in defence of their planet, and maybe the self-inflicted misery of the odd post-binge hangover during his sojourn here, he couldn't remember a time in his life when he hadn't felt totally in tune with his body and its capabilities.
Even after he'd been on the wrong end of a beating, or got pushed to the limit through over-exertion or lack of sleep, the thought never occurred to him that he wouldn't be back operating on all cylinders within a day or two at the most. It was something he just took for granted – all Nietzscheans did.
But his body was letting him down right now, and he simply didn't know why – or worse, how to fix it.
Everything felt wrong – sounds seemed muffled, vision a little blurred, the mingled aromas drifting on the sluggish air less easy to distinguish from each other, and the physical strength he'd always been able to call upon at will no longer as potent. Even his normal agility seemed impaired, his joints stiffer and his balance off kilter.
And he was horribly sure that if he put a hand to his face right now, it would come away damp with what would have to be perspiration.
If he didn't know it to be chronologically impossible, he would have thought himself to be suffering from the onset of old age – a rarity amongst his race given their genetics, and the fact most males preferred to die in battle while still at the height of their powers than live to endure the indignities of dotage. But he was still young and in his prime, so there had to be another explanation. He just needed to find the wherewithal to discover it.
His mind started to wander, coming to rest with a jolt on the now sharpening image of the dark figure that had dogged him over the past week. That had to be it, didn't it? Ever since that first sighting he'd known trouble was coming, so it made sense the stranger had to have something to do with what was happening to him. And that thought brought him to his feet, so intent on resuming his pursuit of the nameless faceless one that it came as a real shock to realise someone had entered the room and he hadn't even noticed.
"Whatever it is, Doyle, I don't have time," he said as he went to push past her, hoping to cover up his laxity, but she held her ground, folding her arms and smiling up at him.
"Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
"None of your business," he retorted gruffly. "What the hell are you doing here anyway?"
Ignoring his aggressive tone, she replied, "Dylan wants to talk to you."
He snorted derisively. "He sent you here to tell me that? What's the matter? The high and mighty Captain Hunt too busy to call me himself?"
She sighed. "He's been trying. But you weren't answering and he became… concerned."
That raised a frown as Rhade glanced back round the room, trying to remember where he'd left his com-unit.
"Try your pocket," Doyle suggested, and he did so, throwing her a dirty look when she was proved right. The unit itself, though, rattled terminally when he pulled it out, and he realised it must have been broken during his crate-wrestling exploits. And with that the throbbing nag of bruised flesh he'd been trying to tune out broke through with a vengeance, every point of impact reminding him of how heavy the damn thing had felt.
Though he tried to blank it out again, something in his expression must have given him away, because Doyle reached out to rest a hand on his arm as she said gently, "You have to admit, you haven't been yourself the past day or so. If something's wrong, tell us what so we can try and help. Or at least let Trance and Andromeda check you over – that's all Dylan wanted to suggest."
He turned away, alarmed by the unexpected surge of emotion her kindness evoked in him. Part of him, driven by pride, demanded he say nothing, abhorring the thought of admitting weakness to anyone, even those who knew him best. Stay focussed, it said, concentrate on finding the one who has to be responsible and deal with the problem yourself.
Another part of him, though, whispered that it wouldn't hurt to find out more about what was happening to him, to give himself the advantage when he did come face to face with his nemesis. And he didn't have to disclose the full extent of his fears, did he? Just enough for Trance to work with…
"Rhade?" Doyle prompted, forcing a decision from him.
"There's nothing wrong a bit of time out from Dylan's do-gooding won't fix," he said blandly. "But if it will make him feel better, and give Trance something to do, why not?"
She gave him a broad encouraging smile with something more hidden behind it that, as he followed her from the room, he was surprised to recognise as relief.
-o-o-o-